I would write you a poem
But I feel that all the words have been used.
Everyone has repeated themselves
And each other.
What news can I bring to you?
What enlightenment?
What insight can I give to he who knows it all?
Perhaps it might not feel like you do,
But the harder I try, the older I get.
And I can’t shake the image of you
As the older,
Bigger person.
The one from which all virtues shine
The one people aspire to imitate.
Perhaps the wisdom I gain with each passing year
Is that you’ve been through more than I, and
More than I will ever know.
So what insight can I bring to he who has suffered
And he who has questioned
And he who has learned what it means to be floating
In uncertainty
To be drowning
In questions
And fears.
You are there, now, swimming like you learned when you were eight
And I watch from the shore, holding no life-saver,
Unable to swim far to reach you where you are.
I cannot know you
But I watch with awe and sadness and fear
Helpless on my firm ground
Which holds me up to tell you that I love you.
What other insight can I give?


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